


Kill Switch

by widowbitesandhearingaids



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Mental Health Stuff, Overprotective!Steve, Torture Mentions, implied nsfw, self loathing!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/widowbitesandhearingaids/pseuds/widowbitesandhearingaids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky finally has a shot at a life with Steve, that is until he finds out that HYDRA had a contingency plan. Now he's got only months to live, unless he finds a cure. But at what cost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday fic for my one and only co-queen of hell, [ Lucii!](http://beardysteve.tumblr.com/)

"You can't tell him." Those are the only words that make it out of his mouth amid the whirling chaos his mind has become, tinged with fear and guilt over what he's said. He made a demand. He doesn't get to do that he doesn't get to do that he doesn't –

But Steve. The thought of the man waiting for him in Brooklyn is enough to pull him out of the fearful spiral, makes him bold enough to try again. " _Vdova_ , you cannot tell him." Her words echo in his ears like a child's chant: _You're dying, you're dying, you're dying_.

"Barnes, this really isn't – "

"You can't _tell him!_ " Bucky shouts, throwing his fist into the wall hard enough to create a crater. Several men in black barge into the room, their guns trained on him. Bucky expects them to fire, expects some kind of punishment for his outbursts, but Natasha holds up a hand and they're dismissed as quickly as they arrived. In truth, none of them are brave enough to be in the same room as him, none but Natasha. And she's the only one who'd have a prayer of neutralizing him anyhow, even on her own and as limitedly armed as she is. Despite his efforts not to see her as a target, Bucky sizes up the spider every time they meet, searching out her weapons, looking for weaknesses. She's always armed and weakness is hard to come by when you're a Black Widow agent/turned KGB assassin/turned Avenger. Still, decades of brainwashing and mind control doesn't disappear overnight. Or in the eighteen months since he's been free. Eight of those months were spent on the run, dodging local authorities, S.H.I.E.L.D, and leftover HYDRA agents looking to reclaim their asset. Eight months wandering without purpose, until his memories started to return – some of them of his time as HYDRA's weapon, some of a borough in New York City that has long since moved on, of a boy there with a thin face; long, artistic fingers; and love in his eyes. The same boy that would become the star spangled idiot that dropped his shield into the Potomac rather than fight him. Captain America. Steve Rogers.

Bucky had cased Steve's life for another four weeks after realizing that the Captain and the boy from his dreams were one and the same. Or they were, before he joined the war. That was when a certain Dr. Erskine turned him into a national tight-wearing symbol. Not that Bucky knows any of that firsthand but nearly everything is public forum these days, and with the Internet, privacy is a thing of the past. He still doesn't remember much from the war – he knows that he fought in it, he knows that he fell from the train, but none of that knowledge is _his_ , just fed to him by history.

Still, it was starting to come back. In the end, Steve saw Bucky, and damn near ran him down before Bucky finally gave in. S.H.I.E.L.D had a conniption, ordering test after test which, to be perfectly honest, did not go well for the three labs he demolished and the half dozen techs that got in his way, but who could blame him? Being surrounded by white lab coats in an unfamiliar room brought back all kinds of bad memories and he'd reacted accordingly. It'd taken awhile, but eventually he'd been released into Steve's custody, under Natasha's supervision. Steve welcomed him into his home, just down the block from their old neighborhood. Sometimes they'd take walks, Steve filling in the gaping holes in his memory with stories from their past, and sometimes, on the good nights, something would come back to him. Not every time, and never all at once, but things were…okay. Or they were going to be.

Then the pain started, like a weight on his chest. Bucky hardly noticed it at first; he's nigh on indestructible, HYDRA saw to that, and the stimulus barely registered, let alone slowed him down enough for him to take note. But the pressure only grew, and within days he couldn't breathe, let alone walk, and somewhere between making himself a bowl of cereal and sitting down on the counter, he passed out and woke up at S.H.I.E.L.D again.

"We can stop the progression for now, but it's a temporary fix, at least until Stark comes up with something better," Natasha says evenly. She doesn't touch him and he's glad; anything might set him off. "But – "

"They killed me," Bucky says. HYDRA. They still own him, even now. In the mad scramble to abandon ship, someone had thrown a kill switch Bucky hadn't even known existed. He should've known. He should've guessed that there was no way they'd ever let him go, not even when the organization has been all but razed to the ground. It makes sense; HYDRA's ruthlessness has only ever been paralleled by their paranoia. They took his past, took his mind, took his freedom and his agency and his _arm_ , and after over a year of freedom, they're taking his future, too. And he might have had one. He's not exactly king of social skills, but he's learning. Trying to remember James B. Barnes. Trying to earn the trust that Steve already has in him. Learning to stop dancing around Sam's suspicion because the guy has every right to be suspicious; navigating Clint's off-kilter sense of humor and Stark's odd combination of narcissism and affection. Relying on Natasha as a touchstone and ally in case anything ever gets out of hand…he's been doing it. Living. It's an odd, fragmented life, but it's his own, finally, and they're taking it from him like they did everything else.

It's not fair. It's not fucking fair, but they're the cards he's been dealt and he damn well isn't going to drag Steve into this with him. Bucky can say with certainty that Steve will wither and die knowing that Bucky isn't long for this world; even if he isn't the man Steve remembers, Bucky was just returned to him. This is going to kill him. Bucky's fists clench as sorrow and rage consume him and he has to steel himself before speaking again.

"How long I got?"

"Stark will figure something out," Natasha says soothingly. "He's more brilliant than any of those HYDRA eggheads, but if you tell him I said that I'll deny it – "

"How long?" Bucky insists and he can swear he sees a flash of sadness in Natasha's eyes before it vanishes and her face is perfectly composed again.

"Months. Four, maybe five if you're lucky. Then whatever they put inside you is going to stop your heart." And there's nothing they can do about it. The S.H.I.E.L.D doctors already removed the tech lodged in his ribcage, but the damage had already been done, probably before he even registered that something was wrong with him. Maybe that was the point: He's nearly impervious to pain, so that tolerance would kill him if he ever got free. HYDRA. Always thinking.

Natasha still doesn't lay a hand on him, but she takes a step closer, silently supporting.

"It'll kill him," Bucky chokes out eventually. He can picture the look on Steve's face, that smile he only smiles when he's fighting tears, trying to put on a brave face. The old Steve, the one Bucky can only remember in the tiniest snatches of memory, he used to smile it too. Bucky can see a small grave marker, a limp bouquet of flowers and Steve, smiling. It breaks his heart. "I…and he – it'll kill him."

"He won't know," Natasha promises and Bucky knows it's ridiculous to take the word of a master of deception and lies, but he believes her. He's going to die. In four months, maybe five, he's going to be wiped off the face of this earth and leave them all behind. Leave Steve behind.

But not yet. He's got a couple more months left before HYDRA snuffs him out, and he's sure as hell not going to waste them.

* * *

 

"Hey," Steve says when Bucky pushed into the apartment a few hours later. The door's open. You'd think that a seasoned New Yorker like him would know better by now, but then again, any burglar would have one hell of a surprise waiting for them if they tried to rob Captain America. "How's your arm feeling?"

"Fine," Bucky says quickly. Steve hadn't been home this morning and Natasha made a quick call, explaining away his absence as a routine check-up. And despite the fact that they're literally killing him, HYDRA did a damn good job at accelerating his healing process. Barring a fist to his sternum, no one will guess that his ribcage had been sawed open and sewn up again only a few hours before. It'll scar and hurt like holy hell in the meantime, but he can take it. He used to be Catholic after all. "Still metal, still wired to my brain." Steve frowns and Bucky can't bring himself to meet his eyes. He's two minutes into keeping the secret and it's already eating him up inside. Shit.

"You alright?" Steve asks gently, setting his hands firmly by his sides. It's a gesture that Bucky's become very familiar with in the last few months. Steve learned the hard way that Bucky's a little tetchy about being touched – the hole in the kitchen tile is evidence of that – so he keeps his hands to himself. Part of Bucky is grateful. Another part, a smaller, confusing part that's still waking up, wishes he wouldn't.

"Fine," Bucky says again. "Just tired. Dunno how you hang out at S.H.I.E.L.D all day. It's exhausting." Steve's mouth twists into a crooked smile.

"I think my experience is a little different from yours," he says ruefully. "Only soldier in an organization of spies…one of the baby agents even asked for my autograph th'other day." Bucky can't help but crack a smile at that. He plays the role well, but Bucky thinks that sometimes even Steve forgets that he's Captain America. He still brings a rescue inhaler on missions, like he's afraid his good health will abandon him as quickly as he gained it. Bucky's heart twists painfully every time he sees Steve stash it in his belt, wishing to be allowed on assignments. Steve can sure as hell take care of himself but he's got a bad habit of leaving his left side open. Not that it'll do any good if Bucky loses his mind and tries to kill him when he's supposed to be watching his back.

"Better you than me," Bucky replies. "One of em' saw me in the hall today and nearly shit himself. His buddy was starin' so hard _vdova_ told him to take a picture or fuck off." Steve snickers, and Bucky knows he's grateful to Natasha. Bucky is too. As far as handlers go, he's had worse, and she's probably one of the only people alive that might have a clue what he's dealing with. HYDRA might have been Nazi and the Red Room Soviet, but scientists are notorious over-sharers no matter where they come from. They swapped brainwashing techniques like housewives swap recipes. Bucky might have been worked with her once; he knows that he was loaned out to the Russians on more than one occasion. Maybe he'll ask her, someday.

Probably not.

They putter around the kitchen for a while longer and Bucky nearly caves and tells him a total of four times, before resolving to turn in early.

"Fucking hell Cap," Clint bellows, bursting into the apartment with a stack of pizzas balanced on one hand. Natasha trails in behind him, her long red hair unbound and in civvies for once instead of her black tac suit. "You really need to learn to lock your door."

"Right because a locked door is going to keep you two out," Steve says, rolling his eyes.

"Well definitely not me," Natasha says, grinning. "Maybe Clint. You know he's shit with a lockpick."

" _Rude_ ," Clint complains, and any notion Bucky has of sneaking off to bed is shot to hell as they let themselves in, bickering back and forth. "I hereby ban you from the pizza."

"Try and stop me," Natasha snipes back. "And if I get no pizza, you get no booze," she says, taking a bottle of clear liquid out of her jacket and swirling the contents. Clint pouts, then turns to the still-open door and whistles.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Steve says, rolling his eyes. From the street trots a mangy-looking yellow lab, its tongue lolling out happily. "Clint, really? Another one?"

"What?" Clint says defensively, kicking the door shut and setting down the pizzas. "It's not Lucky's fault some asshole left him on the street."

"And some other asshole picked him up again," Bucky mutters under his breath, backing away as the dog comes towards him, snuffling at his metal hand. He's so busy trying not to let the dog's wet nose touch his bionic fingers that he doesn't notice that the room's gone silent.

"Hey, Tin Man, you made a joke!" Clint says finally, breaking the spell. Steve shoots him a sharp look and Natasha digs her elbow into his side. "Ow, Christ you got bony elbows, anybody ever tell you that? It's a good thing! Jokes, _good_."

"S'alright," Bucky says, shifting uncomfortably at the attention. Lucky sniffs at his hand curiously before shoving his snout into Bucky's palm. He'll take joking and nicknames over sudden silence and bald-faced fear.

"See?" Clint says, gesturing. "He's fine. Now who wants pizza because I'm fuckin' starving." Natasha rolls her eyes, taking a healthy swig from her bottle.

"Oh, before I forget," she says, pulling a flask out of her jacket. How does she fit so much in there? "I swiped some of Thor's Asgardian happy juice last time he was on Earth. Go crazy."

" _I'm_ not allowed to drink it," Clint pouts.

"Because _you're_ a weepy drunk, and that stuff is enough to put Thor on his ass," Natasha quips. "Now take your pizza and shut up. And get the damn dog away from Barnes, will you?"

"He's okay," Bucky says quietly. "I don't mind." Natasha shrugs, grabbing two slices of pizza and perching herself on the couch. Clint follows suit, flopping next to her, all sprawled limbs and stick-uppy hair. Bucky doesn't understand their relationship, not by a long shot, but they're happy. That's rare enough for normal people, let alone two of the most prolific assassins on the planet. There could stand to be a little happy in the world, especially their world.

Bucky nods his thanks as Steve passes him a plate. Pepperoni. He's taken Steve's word that it used to be his favorite. Settling himself on the far end of the couch, Bucky munches on the pizza and lets the conversation wash over him, occasionally sneaking Lucky bits of pepperoni or cheese. He doesn't touch any liquor, mortal or otherwise – he just had surgery after all – but by the time the pizzas have been polished off, half of Natasha's Stoli is gone and Steve's well into the contraband flask. Bucky just watches as the conversation devolves into raucous storytelling and then Clint breaks out the Xbox, shouting: "Mario Kart!" at the top of his voice.

As it turns out, there is something that pisses Steve off more than widespread injustice and that is losing at Mario Kart. And he really is terrible at it. By the third round, even Bucky is joining in the jeering, laughing out loud when Steve falls off the Rainbow Road for the fourth time in a row.

"I swear to fuckin' – " Steve shouts, looking like he's about to throw his controller at the TV. Bucky swiped the flask away from him an hour ago but Thor's hooch has one hell of a kick. Steve's swearing like a sailor, his Brooklyn accent coming out like it only does when he's well and truly drunk. Bucky may not remember much, but he remembers that. "Me and Thor gonna have a conservation, fuck, _conversation_ 'bout this piece'a shit Asgardian ripoff _stupid game_."

"I think that's enough Kart for the Captain," Clint says, slurring slightly. Bucky agrees, though he doesn't voice the opinion aloud. Being allowed choices is a luxury he's still not comfortable with, though Steve and _vdova_ make sure to practice with him once or twice a day. Steve protests weakly as Natasha takes the controller from him, but he's so far gone that he slumps over on the couch and starts snoring almost immediately. "Oh my God, this is the best night ever," Clint crows, snapping a picture on his phone. Bucky feels his pulse jump, anger surging up inside him at the supposed insult but Natasha places herself in front of him before he can act on the impulse. For someone who's consumed as much alcohol as she has, her eyes are suspiciously clear.

"Babe, can you call a car? I'm going to use the little girls' room," Natasha says and Clint presses a button on his phone before holding it to his ear. "James, come with me please?" Natasha says with a little giggle that seems out of character, even if she is drunk, which Bucky is starting to doubt. "Here," she says as soon as they're out of earshot, all traces of the lighthearted character gone in an instant. Natasha presses something into his hand, something thin and flexible, like the bracelets he sees runners wearing sometimes. Steve has one.

"What – " Bucky starts before he clamps his mouth shut. She's his handler. He doesn't get to ask questions, and there's no Steve here to give him the burst of confidence he needs. Natasha must see the conflict on his face because she doesn't push, waiting for him to summon the courage to finish the statement. She's told him a hundred times that he's free, he's here, he's a real person and not a weapon and he's _allowed_ , but sometimes it doesn't make a difference. She doesn't push, not this time, just waits. "What is this?" Bucky grinds out finally, half of him waiting for her to raise a hand against him, relief swelling in his chest when she doesn't.

"That was really well done James," _vdova_ says softly, a small smile turning her lips up in the corners and Bucky feels in inexplicable burst of guilt that he thought she'd strike him. Natasha isn't like them, she's scary as all hell but she's _good_. Like Steve and Sam and Clint. They're all good people. He's the one who isn't and it isn't fair to project his own brokenness onto them. "That's a buzzer. Stark gave me the idea"

"How…?" Bucky says before snapping his mouth shut again. Natasha doesn't make him finish the sentence this time, forging ahead. Again, he's grateful.

"It's something to keep you grounded," she explains. "This, keeping this secret from Steve, it might mess you up inside."

"More than I already am?" Bucky deflects, trying for a joke but _vdova_ doesn't bite. And she's right. Just keeping this from Steve for an afternoon has been exhausting, though he doesn't regret his decision and doesn't think he's going to change his mind.

"If you start to think this is a bad idea, if keeping this secret makes you worse, you call me."

"Is that – is that an order?" Bucky asks, hating how his voice shakes at the question, but recognizes the authority in her tone. Immediately, Natasha shakes her head, her eyes widening a fraction before her face smoothes over again. Not for the first time Bucky wonders how she does it. In terms of time, he was under HYDRA's control for much longer, but he was also on ice for years and years at a time. Natasha's exposure to the Red Room was constant, and here she is, functioning like a real person. She's proof that it's possible, something that would give him hope if he wasn't already dying. Hope, if he ever had any – and Bucky isn't so sure he ever has – is in short supply.

"It's an option," she corrects gently. "You know you don't have to do anything you don't want to. And you know I'm a phone call away if you need me."

"What if you're not around?" Bucky hates the way his voice shakes, hates the way the question still feels like it should be a punishable offence. "On a mission, or something?"

At that, Natasha smirks. "Fury knows to keep me in the country for the foreseeable future. It may not seem like it sometimes, but S.H.I.E.L.D does have other agents, even if they aren't as good." Bucky doesn't smile and Natasha's teasing façade drops. "You're my mission now," she says. It's supposed to be comforting, Bucky knows that, but his own voice flashes through his head, saying the same words under very different circumstances. His fist strikes Steve's unprotected face and he _won't fight back_. Why won't he fight back? Targets always fight. Or cry or beg. Not this man. This man he's been punished for knowing, punished for waking up the little voice in his head he's long since forgotten. That voice is screaming now, pleading with him with jumbled words that just add to the madness in his brain and the Soldier just wants it to _shut up_!

"James," he hears a voice and his head snaps up, looking for danger and finding it. The Widow, _vdova_ , the other part of his mission. Perhaps even more deadly than the Captain and certainly harder to kill. Her lips move and it takes him a moment to register that she's speaking in English. They don't often speak English. Useless data, but something his brain has been force-fed at one point or another. The Widows are exclusively Russian. Somehow, she must see his confusion and switches languages. " _James, you're safe. Come back to me."_ Her words are confusing. The Soldier doesn't belong to her; he's property of HYDRA, not the Soviets. It must be a distraction, a test, and he cannot afford to fail a test. They'll hurt him if he does. Her hair swishes as she moves slightly, blood-red and distracting, and then something buzzes in his hand. The Soldier looks down as the strange object he didn't realize that he's holding. A thick, flexible band . It's vibrating insistently, over and over and over, until the fog clears and Bucky recognizes Natasha again.

"Oh my God," he murmurs, his legs starting to shake. He staggers into the wall, not trusting himself to stay upright. "I…Did I – ?"

"No," Natasha says firmly. "You just went away for a second. But you're back, okay?"

"O-okay," Bucky says shakily.

"Look," Natasha says. "That's what the bracelet does. It monitors your heartbeat and if it detects anything unusual, starts vibrating. Stark made it for when his attacks got bad, he said it might help. Do you think that will work?" Bucky nods again, not trusting himself to speak, but Natasha waits. She wants to hear the words, he knows she does.

"Monitors my heart, buzzes if I go away somewhere," Bucky repeats dutifully, his voice still quivering. Still, he fits the bracelet over his flesh wrist, thinking that he should thank Stark the next time he sees him.

"Good," Natasha says, nodding. Are you alright? Do you want me to stay?" She will, if he asks. All night. She knows better than to come to close when he's like this, but having her around might help.

He also knows that he shouldn't need her to. He's been on his own a long, long time and he's a hell of a lot better than when he started. He's got Steve, besides. He'll be able to last the night on his own.

"I'll be okay," Bucky says after a while. Natasha nods, and he's silently grateful. She never questions him or makes him answer more than once, just taking his answers at face value. He's not sure if he deserves the confidence but he sure as hell appreciates it. "Besides," he says softly, trying to lighten the mood. "I think Clint needs you more than I do." As if to punctuate his statement, Clint's raucous shout echoes through the hall, hollering that the car is here and she better "move her red-headed butt." Natasha rolls her eyes.

"I'm going to kick his ass," she says, but her voice is light. "Sleep well James."

"You too." He doesn't follow them out, despite Clint's very, _very_ loud protests at being hauled out of the apartment, presumably by his ear. Bucky's still not so good with goodbyes; they feel much too final for his taste, like if he watches them walk out the door, he's sealing their fate somehow. Only if he isn't there for the departures do they have a chance of making it back safe. It doesn't make sense – does anything in his deep-fried brain make sense anymore? – but it's what he's got to work with.

As soon as silence settles over the apartment, Bucky makes his way back to the living room where Steve is still snoring blissfully. Bucky's got half a mind to move him to his bedroom but balks before the idea can so much as settle. It's not his strength he doubts – he's more than strong enough to move Steve, but that would involve a whole lot of touching. None of which he's comfortable with. Still, he manages to get close enough to drape a thick blanket over the length of Steve's body. There are nearly a dozen of them scattered around the apartment, at Steve's insistence. He bought them in the first few weeks that Bucky moved in, saying that he'd been living in harsh conditions for long enough. Far long enough. So they spent a ridiculous amount of time online, searching for the most unnecessarily plush blankets they could find and then bought eleven of them. Bucky still grumbles about it, teasing on good days that Steve's spoiling him. But on the bad ones, he's glad for anything that doesn't remind him of the cold metal tables where he spent a good portion of the last seventy years.

Bucky's just dropped the blanket over Steve's shoulders when he shifts slightly in his sleep. The snoring stops, though Steve's mouth is still wide open, and he mumbles something. It might be "stay." It might also be nonsense, but Bucky's too focused on the hand suddenly touching his to bother translating. All of his senses shift into high-gear, searching out danger, expecting punishment, and for a moment he feels like every nerve in his body has moved to the back on his hand. It's burning. It _hurts_ ; Steve is hurting him – Steve promised he'd never hurt him, never touch him if he didn't want him to and he lied, Steve lied, Steve is hurting him, he's burning him, he's –

"Bucky…" The mumbled word is enough to snap Bucky back into his own body, but he does yank his hand away, holding it close to his chest. It takes a moment for his breathing and heart to even out again, for his nerves to settle back into their original places. His skin still tingles from what was probably half a second of contact and he feels a rush of guilt. This is _Steve_ , patron saint of back-alley fights and broken assassins. Of course he wouldn't hurt him. He's _asleep_ for Christ's sake.

Still, Bucky's nerves are fried and his whole body sags from the sudden buildup and release of tension. He's exhausted and the few short steps to his bedroom stretch miles long. He never knew that so much nothing could make him this damn tired. Quickly making up his mind before he can talk himself out of it, Bucky snatches another enormous fluffy blanket and settles himself on the opposite end of the couch from Steve, well far enough away that accidental touching won't be a problem. Still, Bucky swathes himself in the blanket just in case, marveling in its softness. At first, after decades of cold, unyielding steel and ice, everything plush seemed like it was suffocating, but now it makes him feel safe. Bucky closes his eyes, snuggling in closer to the pillows he used to complain about. Might as well soak it all in now, because in less than six months time, he won't be around to enjoy anything, let alone cushy pillows and blankets.

Just as he's drifting off, Bucky hears Steve murmur his name again, the word soft and safe in his mouth. Revered, even, and darkness grips his insides. He's selfish, is what he is. Selfish to want everything to stay the way it is, even though he knows his death is going to tear Steve apart.

_Selfish_ , a voice whispers in his head. Small and insidious. _Selfish, selfish soldier. You'll kill him either way. What you failed to do with a bullet, you'll succeed with a broken heart._

* * *

 

Bucky wakes up early. He doesn't sleep well on good days, what with his subconscious trying to unload every bad memory he has onto him all at once. On bad days, he sleepwalks, haunted by old missions he can't remember when he wakes up. It doesn't help that the guilt kept him awake nearly all night, only allowing him to catch an hour of sleep at a time.

He's halfway through making breakfast when Steve staggers back into the land of the living.

"Oh my God," Steve groans and from his place at the stove, Bucky can see that his skin is a sallow off-white. "Oh my God I'm hung-over. I haven't had a headache this bad since the thirties. Goddamn."

"Drink some water," Bucky insists, filling a glass for him. "Breakfast is almost ready."

"If I eat anything, I'm going to vomit everywhere," Steve says, rubbing his eyes.

"If you don't eat anything, you will for certain," Bucky contradicts, feeling only a slight pang of the old programming rearing its ugly head. This is Steve, not Natasha or some HYDRA handler. He's allowed. "Drink the water, wash your face, and then you're eating the breakfast I slaved over."

"Bossy…" Steve grumbles but he smiles a little and Bucky knows that he's pleased. A few months ago, there would be no way Bucky'd be able to give him orders like that. Now, bossing Steve around is just another perk. Besides, Bucky likes taking care of him. He doesn't get to do it all that often, given that Steve is a full grown man and a competent soldier to boot, but it's times like these that wake up a side of him that lived back in the forties. The Bucky Barnes that might have been if he'd survived the war. That guy is dead, something dark in the back if Bucky's head reminds him, and soon Bucky will be too.

It's easy to get lost in the pull of sadness and grief that wells up inside him, appearing as quickly as the tide and just as powerful. But the moment Steve stumbles out of the bathroom, his shirt rumpled from sleep and his hair sticking up in downy tufts, Bucky finds the strength to shove those thoughts away. _This_ is why he's doing this. Steve, and that stupid, goofy, beautiful smile that seems to be only for Bucky, even though he's not the man Steve lost. Even though he's broken and bad and he's done unspeakably horrible things. Somehow, Steve managed to forgive him. Steve brought him back and even though he's never going to be the guy that Steve remembers, he makes Bucky think that whoever he turns out to be is someone worth being, worth knowing.

Or, you know, he would be, if given the chance.

"Me an' Thor are gonna have a conversation," Steve groans, sipping at the water Bucky pushes in front of him. Once Steve finishes it, Bucky refills the glass and glares him down until he drinks that too. Only then does he reply.

"Yeah you said something along those lines last night," Bucky says coolly. Steve blanches, ducking his head. Bucky smiles a little, seeing his cheeks blush bright crimson. "Although I think you were going to blame him for losing at Mario Kart."

"Oh my God," Steve says again, cradling his head in his hands. Bucky pushes a plate of eggs and hash in front of him. "Next time I complain about not being able to get drunk, remind me of this."

"Duly noted," Bucky says drily, watching to make sure tat he eats. Two bites in, Steve's phone vibrates and he laughs around a mouthful of eggs. "Looks like I'm not the only one having a rough morning," he says, passing the phone to Bucky. On the screen is a photo of Natasha – a selfie, he thinks it's called? – and Clint. Natasha's flashing a thumbs up, looking pleased, and Clink looks like he's two minutes from keeling over. The bags under his eyes are so dark they're nearly purple and his skin is the same not-white as Steve's. _Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed_ , the text underneath the picture reads.

Bucky snickers. "That's what he gets for trying to outdrink _vdova_." Natasha had drunk even more than Clint had and she'd been clear-eyed and present during his…episode. Can she even _get_ drunk? Bucky's never thought to ask, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense that the Soviets would try to make their own serum. Although, the Russians wouldn't have had any use for a supersoldier. Super _spies_ , on the other hand…It makes sense. A sick, twisted kind of perfect sense. They wouldn't have been content with brainwashing defenseless girls and turning them into killing machines, they would've tried to make them superhuman on top of it. Fucking with heir physicality, metabolism, which would explain the tolerance to alcohol. And the information is available; Steve told Bucky all about how Natasha dumped all of S.H.I.E.L.D's intel online, including her own file. He could look it up. Maybe knowing what she went through, the details, will help with his own recovery. But no, he flinches from the idea much like he had against moving Steve last night. It feels too much like an intrusion, like overstepping, like –

Not allowed. Besides, what does he care about his own recovery anymore? The best he can do is minimize the damage at this point, like dropping a bomb in an unpopulated area because it's going to explode either way. Might as well try to keep people as far away from the blast as possible.

"The Irish come close, but no one can outdrink a Russian," Steve agrees, snapping Bucky out of his own thoughts. He doesn't seem to notice that Bucky had gotten lost for a moment, for which Bucky is grateful. He doesn't want Steve to worry. "Though I'm starting to think Asgardians have us all beat."

"Natasha could drink Thor under the table," Bucky says, trying to keep the conversation light despite the constant turmoil in his mind. He's only met Thor once, briefly, way back when he still had to force himself to respond to 'Bucky' and he was little more than defunct programming and instinct. Truthfully, he doesn't remember much besides blond hair, a booming voice, and a healthy respect for the power running off of the god in waves. But Steve considers his a friend and ally, that's good enough for Bucky.

"Knock knock." Bucky jumps a little at the new voice, stilling when he sees that it's only Sam at the door. The unlocked door. He'd forgotten to lock it last night. Bucky shudders at his own stupidity. How could he have forgotten? He left them both vulnerable. "So how was the bender?" Sam asks, shooting Steve a wide grin.

"How the – oh, I totally forgot about our run. Sorry man," Steve says, his mouth half-full. He's attacking the hash more vigorously than he had done the eggs; a good sign.

"S'all good," Sam says, waving a hand. "Barnes texted me and let me know you'd be in no shape to work out this morning. Looks like he wasn't lying. You look like shit."

"Tactful as always, thank you Sam," Steve says, hanging his head again.

"Not gonna lie, it was nice running without your superpowered ass lapping me half a dozen times over."

"And here I was thinking that you weren't the jealous type," Steve shoots back. Sam replies smoothly and just like last night, Bucky lets the conversation wash over him as he sets up a plate for Sam as well. Vaguely, he hears himself offer it to him, but other that that he's content to listen to the two of them banter back and forth, feeling a touch out of place. He's not good at this, lighthearted talking. Joking back and forth. Teasing. It's very human, and Bucky's spent a long time being anything but. So he just steps back and soaks it all in.

"Bucky?" Bucky blinks, coming back. Both Steve and Sam are looking at him. "You with us buddy?"

"Yeah, sorry," Bucky says, casting his downward. "Just tired." Steve bites his lip and Bucky knows that he wants to push the issue, press to know where he goes when he spaces out like that, but thankfully he lets it drop.

"Honestly it's a miracle you can get any sleep at all," Sam says and Bucky freezes, sure he's going to bring up Bucky's night terrors or the sleepwalking. "'Cause I've bunked with the Star Spangled Man with a Plan and the fangirls would be so disappointed to know that he snores like a trucker, am I right?"

"I do not!" Steve protests.

"Yes you do," Bucky murmurs and his whole body seizes as Steve's gaze flashes to him, his expression morphing from hurt to disgust in less than a second.

" _Are you contradicting me Asset?" Steve snarls in a voice that is very much not his own. Bucky's eyes go wide and his mind blanks out completely. He drops his eyes to the floor, as if avoiding the gaze of a feral animal in an attempt not to provoke it._

_"_ _N-no," Bucky stammers, hating how he cannot master his own voice. He should have known better, he_ does _know better, than to speak out against a handler like that._

_"_ _Do you remember what happens to assets that speak out or don't follow orders?" Not-Steve demands. "Say the words."_

_"_ _They get broken."_

_"_ _Very good. And what do we do to broken weapons?"_

_"_ _Decommission them," Bucky says. He's seen what happens to assets that outlive their usefulness or prove too troublesome. They showed him exactly what's in store for him if he doesn't submit, and they used civilians for their demonstrations. Innocents, plucked from their homes and their lives, tortured and killed because he refused to fall in line._

"Bucky?" _the handler with Steve's face says. But that's wrong. They don't call him Bucky. They hardly call him anything except Asset or 'it.' Something is buzzing, his hand is buzzing, what the hell is buzzing?_ "Bucky, come back to us. You're okay, come back."

Slowly, the world, the real world, swims back into focus. The kitchen counter, the eggs, Steve and Sam, both of them watching him closely. Bucky inhales deeply through his nose, gripping the countertop with his flesh hand and focusing on the pattern in the marble. He follows the swirls of color with his eyes, focusing on his breathing until everything settles again. The bracelet Natasha gave him last night stills.

"You with us?" Sam asks evenly. His voice is steady and he makes an effort not to make any sudden moves. Bucky's proven that spooking him right after a dissociative episode can have very violent consequences. He still feels guilty about fracturing Sam's ribs the second month he was here – he hadn't been in control of himself, but still, it was his bionic arm that tossed the man halfway across the apartment.

"Yeah," Bucky says, his voice shaking like before. "Yeah I'm with you." Steve doesn't say a word, his lips mashed together in a tense line.

"Can you tell me what you saw?" Sam asks carefully. Bucky's breathing becomes jagged again and he grips the marble hard enough to dent it. He doesn't – he doesn't _want_ to. As if talking about it will somehow turn Steve back into a handler.

"You don't have to," Steve cuts in swiftly. Sam shoots him an indecipherable look that Steve steadfastly ignores. "Bucky, you don't have to talk if you don't want to." Bucky clings to that, using Steve's voice to anchor him to the present. He doesn't have to talk if he doesn't want to. He has a _choice_ ; he's not their voiceless tool anymore.

"Dammit," Bucky breathes. Dammit, he's supposed to be doing better than this. He's been making progress, real, tangible progress. And now this, two episodes in less than twenty-four hours? That's one hell of a step backwards. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey, don't apologize," Steve says quickly. "You didn't do anything wrong. How about you sit and I'll make you something to eat?" Bucky's halfway through the word 'no' when Steve stands anyway, staggering dangerously to the side as he does so. Before he knows what's happening, Bucky's hands are on Steve's shoulders, steadying him. Both of them freeze at the sudden contact and Bucky doesn't so much as breathe, terrified that he's going to lose himself again.

"Let me," Bucky grinds out finally. He doesn't move his hands. "Let me take care'a you for once, okay?" There's a beat of silence that feels like it lasts a lifetime and then Steve nods.

"Whatever you say boss," he says, smiling a little, and Bucky finally takes his hands away.

"Well well, it looks like you're on sick leave for the time being," Sam says, looking very amused. "Thanks for the grub Doctor Barnes, but I think I'll leave you to your patient." Bucky can't help the smile that creeps over his face as Sam winks and, snapping the two of them a sharp salute, lets himself out.

"So what are my orders, doc?" Steve asks and Bucky allows himself to feel the thrill of that, for a moment. He's giving orders. He is. The Asset, the Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, he's the one in charge. It's a strange feeling – even since he came back to Brooklyn, Bucky's been at the mercy of others. It's different, of course, that being HYDRA's weapon, but still. The constant shuffle of S.H.I.E.L.D personnel examining him, checking on his progress; Natasha acting as both his friend and handler; Steve and Sam and Clint with their kind-eyed worry, offering suggestions to help him heal. None of it has been his call. For the best, he knows – for a while there at the beginning he could barely speak let alone be in charge of his own recovery. It's kind of nice having the reigns for once, being allowed to handle something.

"You're going to finish your breakfast and then take a shower," Bucky says. His voice doesn't shake but there's still a tiny, hateful part of him that expects to be punished for his insolence.

"Are you saying that I smell?" Steve says, pouting. Bucky rolls his eyes, recognizing the joke in his tone.

"I'm saying that you're wearing the same clothes as yesterday and yesterday you had a date with Asgardian liquor."

"Fair point," Steve says finally. He finishes off the rest of his food quickly, his appetite obviously returning, before disappearing into the bathroom.

They don't do much for the rest of the day, mostly just talking, lounging, and making their way through Steve's not unimpressive collection of Disney movies. Steve falls asleep halfway through _Aladdin_ and Bucky doesn't wake him, watching the rest of the movie from his side of the couch. He puts on _Beauty and the Beast_ when the credits roll, disentangling himself from the blankets. Even after all this time, he gets antsy if he stands still for too long – old programming from being the Soldier, not to mention that being in any one place for more than an hour or so is too much like being forced to stand in his pod as they froze him for years, decades even, until he was useful to them again.

Checking to make sure that the front door is locked before he leaves, Bucky makes his way to the basement. He doesn't use the traditional staircase or elevator; there are too many people for that. S.H.I.E.L.D designed escape ways in the building before Steve moved in, and Bucky uses them to get to the work out room that's been specially retrofitted for his and Steve's purposes. Inside steel walls that could stop the Hulk, let alone a bullet, there are punching bags made to withstand super strength, weights, ropes, a boxing ring, and even a small obstacle course in the far corner. It took Bucky a long time to be able to come down – it's dark and dimly lit, reminding him too much of the HYDRA facility where he would wake up every time. When he _did_ manage to force himself to face his fear, Steve wouldn't stop smiling for a week. It was like Bucky had run a goddamn marathon or something.

With the amount of stress it put on him, he might as well have. Despite Steve's encouragements, Bucky hadn't stayed long, retreating into his room almost immediately after and staying there for two whole days. He's been better since then, and working out down here helps, somehow. Like he's reclaiming the room for himself, like every blow on the bag is one against the people that took his life away. It's not much, but it's something. It's enough.

Bucky doesn't hear Steve come in, focused too intensely on the bag in front of him. It shudders with every blow but keeps together, a testament to Stark technology. Bucky's flesh fist can bend steel, let alone the metal one. He can see their faces, the ones he remembers. Rumlow. Pierce. The ones who told him to kill Steve, that Steve was a mission, to be eliminated.

_You've helped shape the century. I need you to do it one more time_. One more time. Kill Steve, and then die himself. Bucky had known for a long time that he was outliving his usefulness. Becoming obsolete. This last mission, kill Captain America, and then get decommissioned.

Maybe that's why he tried so hard, because somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, where Bucky Barnes still lived despite HYDRA's best efforts to destroy him, he knew that this was his only way out. Death was his only escape route away from HYDRA. And so he tried to kill Steve. He tried _so hard_. Never before had there been so much on the line during a mission. He didn't care about them, they didn't matter. The assignments were perfunctory, routine. He didn't have to work for them and there wasn't any kind of reward to motivate him. He was too far gone by then to care about rewards.

But freedom? Finally being allowed to sleep and never have to wake up again? Never be assigned another mission, never be hurt at the hands of faceless, white-coated HYDRA scientists again? Never have to face what he's done, face and suffer the crippling guilt that would undoubtedly lie under the foggy haze of drugs and programming? That was too good to pass up.

Then Steve happened and he was pain, white-hot and agonizing. He woke up parts of Bucky that he though had died decades ago. It _hurt_ , and that made Bucky want to eliminate him even more. He didn't want to feel that pain, didn't want to remember. But then, on the helicarrier, Steve saved him. Saved him from letting that beam crush him would've ensured the success of his mission and eliminated a dangerous adversary in one fell swoop. It would've been easy for Steve to leave him – Steve _should've_ left him – but the idiot chose to save Bucky's life even if it meant forfeiting his own.

And when it came down to it, Bucky couldn't let Steve die any more than Steve had been able to leave Bucky. Suddenly, his freedom didn't count for shit because Steve Rogers would be dead and Steve Rogers is to be protected.

"Hey." A soft voice accompanies a knock on the wall, letting Bucky know that someone's there well in advance.

"Hi," Bucky says, turning his attention away from the abused heavybag to see Steve standing in the doorway. "Welcome back Sleeping Beauty." Steve grins.

"Nice Disney reference."

"Best part of the future: No polio and Disney."

"Better food," Steve adds.

"Better food!" Bucky agrees, nodding. Re-learning how to feed himself had been a real pain in the ass but once he got the hang of it, Bucky found that he likes cooking. There's something soothing about making something out of nothing.

"You okay?" Steve asks gently when they lapse into silence. He still looks half-asleep, his hair ruffled up in the back. Bucky smiles fondly; Steve obviously woke up and immediately came looking for Bucky.

"Yeah, just working off some steam."

"Have you been seeing them?" Steve asks. "HYDRA?" He doesn't dance around the word like he used to, afraid that it would set Bucky off.

"No," Bucky lies. "Just restless."

"I was going to go for a run, if you want to join me?" Steve offers offhandedly. Bucky opens his mouth to decline almost immediately – he doesn't do so well with wide-open spaces since he started coming back to himself. Doesn't do so well with small, cramped spaces either. Agoraphobia and claustrophobia, what a laugh.

"Sure," Bucky says before he can talk himself out of it. He's gotta get out of the house sometimes. Steve's face lights up, smiling like it's his goddamn birthday and something twists in Bucky's gut. How far Steve's standards for happiness have fallen when something as simple as Bucky accompanying him on a run makes him smile like that. God, what is he going to do when Bucky's gone?

Steve's already in his running gear, so all he does is grab his shoes and they're out the door. Bucky feels his heart spike almost immediately; there aren't too many people milling about, but there's enough that he feels antsy, sizing up everyone he sees as a potential threat.

"You good?" Steve asks, keeping pace beside him. Bucky inhales deeply and nods. He can do this – he's got to be able to do this, it's not like he's got all the time in the world to psych himself up.

"Fine," Bucky breathes. "Pick it up, man. I'll be right behind you." Steve doesn't question him and takes off at a punishing clip, putting distance between them almost immediately. Bucky pushes himself to keep up, focusing on Steve to keep the other pedestrians from freaking him out.

It almost works. Then once face flashes in his peripheral vision and Bucky skids to a stop, his heart hammering so hard it feels like it's going to fracture his ribs. His head whips around as a figure rounds the corner and he takes off after it, rage and terror fueling his movements in equal measure.

"Look who it is," a horribly familiar voice says and Bucky's vision goes red. His mind quiets as old programming reasserts itself and he rounds on the man, grabbing him by the throat and nearly throwing him against the wall. Brock Rumlow grins, back from the dead, and Bucky has barely the presence of mind to recognize how _different_ he looks. There are hollows in his cheeks that weren't there before, a mad glint in his eye, and ugly, deep scars crisscrossing the side of his face. "Lookin' good, Asset. Or do you go by Bucky now?"

"Give me a reason," Bucky snarls.

"What, a guy can't come visit old friends? Me, you, and Cap, we had some good times." Bucky's hand tightens around Rumlow's throat at the sound of Steve's name in his mouth and the man splutters, his composure slipping for the first time. "Don't you want to know why I'm here?"

"No," Bucky snarls, squeezing.

"Not even if I can keep your heart beating a little longer?" Bucky stills, stopped short by his words. His first thought is hope, quickly squashed by suspicion. "C'mon man, you think I don't know about your expiration date? I was there when they put it in. Little metal device, lots of little offshoots, like spider legs." Bucky's heart trips in his chest. He got a good look at the tech before Stark squirreled it away and that matches the description.

"Why should I believe you?" Bucky snaps, refusing to let the conflict show on his face. He knows Rumlow – he's a snake, and he'll exploit the slightest weakness, and HYDRA has always seen emotion as weakness.

"Well," Rumlow says, impossibly casual considering the metal hand around his throat. "The way I see it, you've got two options. Because you could kill me and be done with it, and then you'd have no more time with the Star Spangled Man. Or, you can listen to my offer and I can give you a chance to get back at the bastards who took your life, and keep your heart from giving out." Bucky wants to kill him – he _should_ kill him for everything that he's done, to Bucky personally and countless civilians.

And then Steve's face flashes before his eyes. Steve with tears shining in his eyes, tracking down his face even though he'll try to be strong. Steve standing over Bucky's body, destroyed to have lost him a second time, furious and heartbroken because Bucky never had a chance. _They_ never had a chance.

"Prove it," Bucky says, releasing Rumlow's throat but not stepping away. They both know that he's the more powerful of the two and if it comes to blows, Bucky will rip his head off faster than he can blink. "Prove that you can fix me."

"Thought you might say that," Rumlow says so smugly that Bucky wants to renege on the whole thing and kill him anyway. Slowly, Rumlow draws a syringe out of his jacket pocket, holding his other hand up so show that he's unarmed. "This is the beta blocker. It'll stop the deterioration."

"Right, like I'm going to let you shoot me up with sugar water or cyanide or whatever the hell that _really_ is." Rumlow only shrugs, unbothered by Bucky's animosity.

"Honestly, I don't give a damn whether or not you believe me, but you can have it anyway." He holds the syringe out for Bucky to take. "First taste is free. And when you do get it tested and it turns out to be exactly what'll save you, then you're gonna have to work for it."

"Work for it how?" Bucky can't help but ask, his mind already spinning through all the possibilities. If Rumlow is telling the truth – and that's a big if – then this could save his life. This could give him the time he needs to stay with Steve. And God knows he'll do anything for that.

"All you gotta do is what you were made to do. Kill." Bucky stiffens. "Aw, come on," Rumlow says, sneering. "Don't act like you didn't love it. The thrill of taking someone's life and knowing there was nothing they could do to stop you. The power. And I'll even sweeten the deal. Your targets aren't civilians, they're HYDRA traitors. People from the organization that I want dead for ratting us out. It's a win-win buddy, you've gotta admit."

"Bucky?" Steve's voice echoes from the main road and Bucky's head snaps towards it; he'd nearly forgotten that he left Steve to investigate Rumlow.

"That's my cue," Rumlow says, sounding for all the world like they've just met to catch up about old times. "Once you decide that you're interested, come find me." The word "where" is half out of Bucky's mouth when Steve appears in the mouth of the alley and Rumlow vanishes just as quickly.

"Bucky, you okay?" Steve asks, panting, concern written all over his face.

"Fine," Bucky lies quickly, slipping the syringe into his jacket and out of sight. "I…I thought I saw someone." Steve fixes him with a hard look, obviously trying to decide whether or not to push, before he allows it to drop. "I think I'm going to head home. This was a little too much for me." Immediately, the searching look is gone and Steve's face twists with guilt.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. "I shouldn't have pushed you to get out of the house so soon." Bucky doesn't respond, afraid that his words might give him away. The syringe is burning a hole in his pocket and it feels like a spotlight is shining on his face. He's lying to Steve, not just about his heart, but also now about Rumlow. It's too much to keep from him, but Bucky knows that he doesn't have any other option. Steve can't know that he's even _entertaining_ this. And he is. Entertaining it, that is. If Rumlow is being truthful, and again, there's no telling if he is in fact telling the truth, all Bucky has to do is take out some HYDRA agents. Steve has been searching out the remaining operatives for months – Bucky'll be part of Steve's new team instead of sitting on the sidelines like some kind of invalid.

As soon as they get back to the apartment, Bucky disappears into his room. He stashes Rumlow's syringe in a sock and shoves it into the bottom of his dresser, piling extra clothes on top for good measure. He'll have to get it tested, eventually, but for now he needs to make sure no one finds it. Not that Steve would go through his stuff – Bucky's room has always been strictly his. In the months since he's been back in Brooklyn, Steve's stepped foot in here only a handful of times – but Bucky's paranoia seems to be reaching new heights this afternoon.

Turning the water up as hot as he can stand, Bucky lets the stream slough the sweat off his body, wishing it could take the anxiety and indecision with it. Rumlow's words echo in his head, over and over again. _Not even if I can keep your heart beating a little longer?_ He's an idiot to even be considering this; it's a deal with the devil if he ever heard one. Steve would be furious if he knew.

"Fuckin' moron," Bucky murmurs to himself, turning off the water and running his bionic fingers through his damp hair. He leans his forehead against the cool tile, but it does nothing to help the headache beginning to form behind his eyes.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice calls from outside the door. He doesn't respond, slipping on a tattered pair of sweatpants and crawling into bed, like curling into the covers will make this afternoon's events cease to exist. Somehow, he manages to fall asleep, despite the dangerous, doubt-filled thoughts swirling around in his brain, trying to eat him alive.

_"_ _It's screaming," a voice says. Cold, clinical, like the Soldier's agony is just another, very loud, variable. "God, can somebody shut it_ up _?" The Soldier thrashes as the muzzle is fitted over the bottom half of his face and something stings the crook of his arm. He feels the effects almost immediately, ice crawling through his veins, turning his blood to sludge and making every muscle in his body seize up. He can't move, but he can feel. He can feel as they rip into him, crack open his sternum like so many snapping twigs. He's wide open, exposed, the most vulnerable he can possibly be. Gloved hands root around inside him, messing with his heart, his lungs, and then there's something new inside of him. Something heavy and metal and it_ hurts _. So much of him hurts he doesn't know where the pain ends and he begins. Maybe there isn't any distinction. Maybe he's ceased to be a living, breathing creature entirely, and is now just a being wholly made up of pain._

_He wants to scream, wants to thrash and fight, even if it makes them hurt him more, even if they kill him. But the drug in his system keeps him immobile and prone, helpless against them._

_"_ _Damn, ain't this a sight," a familiar voice says. The Soldier knows it. The double agent, the S.H.I.E.L.D traitor. His face swims into vision, smiling like the Soldier is some circus exhibit to be gawked at. "You guys do great work here, you know that?" He's speaking to the white coats now. "The most accomplished killer the world has ever seen. You're weak as a kitten, ain't you big boy?" There's pressure on his face, and it's not pain, but there's something violent in it anything. Something forceful and degrading._

_A single, blinding flash of hate sears through the pain, waking him up, giving him strength. The traitor must see it, because his eyes widen and then he's gone, vanished from the Soldier's field of view. A tiny sting, gentle compared to the wasteland of agony his body has become, and the icy sludge crawls through his veins again._

_There's the metallic whirring that the Soldier's splintered mind faintly recognizes as a drill and then there isn't enough of him left for hatred, not even enough to try and scream. He can only lie there as the weight Is adhered to his chest, wishing for death._

_They don't bother wiping him, not this time. Too dangerous, he dimly overhears a white coat say. With everything else it's endured, the strain of a wipe could kill it._

_The Soldier wonders why they won't just do it. No doubt he's too broken now to be of any use to them, too damaged to be their weapon. Why then not decommission him and get it over with? Instead, they put him to sleep and that's a pain all its own as he's trundled into the cryrochamber and locked inside to freeze within an inch of his life. This time, he looks forward to the quiet that awaits him after the burning freeze. Strapped to the inside of the pod, he doesn't allow the familiar panic to overcome him as icy air is pumped inside, searing every inch of exposed skin. He stays still, docile and waiting for the quiet. No one asks anything of him there; it's almost like sleeping. Dreamless, peaceful. Safe, for a time, without the white coats and their cold voices and hateful tools. Without handlers to bark orders. And Christ his chest hurts, it_ hurts _–_

_He's almost there, to the quiet, when the cold is yanked away, replaced by blazing heat. Someone is shouting a name that doesn't mean anything to him. Did it once? He doesn't know. Something buzzes by his right hand but he pays it no mind._

_"_ _Bucky?" He knows that voice. How does he know it? "Bucky!' A hand grabs his, caging his wrist in an iron grip and the Soldier's eyes snap open._

_Blue eyes on a terribly familiar face meet his. The Captain. The Captain is_ here _, how is he here, why isn't he dead? The Soldier has to kill him they'll hurt him for this._

_His chest contracts under an unimaginable weight and the vibrations at his wrist grow more and more insistent. He shoves them to the back of his mind, reaching for the knife he knows is under his bed and slashing at the Captain's throat. The man jerks away, knocking the knife out of the Soldier's hand easily – his movements are too slow, too predictable. They'll hurt him for this they're going to –_

"Bucky!" Strong hands grip his arms, both flesh and metal. "Bucky, you're okay, you're safe, I've got you."

"Steve?" Bucky manages somehow, blinking at him. His voice is raw and his throat feels like he's been gargling with knives. Screaming. He must've screamed in his sleep, loud enough to wake Steve up. Wordlessly, Steve guides him back to the bed where his sheets are tangled and damp. Night terrors, fitful dreams, they're all anticipated symptoms of everything HYDRA put him through, but they haven't been this bad in a long time.

"You with me Buck?" Steve asks softly. Bucky nods, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He's suddenly very aware of the hand on his and he can feel his pulse jump under Steve's fingers. He wants to pull away, but he can't bring himself to move. He's frozen in place. Even breathing feels like it'll set something off. It takes him a long time to answer, and Natasha's bracelet finally stops buzzing as his heart calms to a steady beat. The haze of the dream dissipates, leaving him solidly in the apartment. "Do you know where you are?"

"Brooklyn," Bucky grinds out finally. He knows the drill. It was Sam's idea, having him answer a series of questions to bring him back into the present. "2015. Obama is president."

"What's your name?"

"James Buchanan Barnes," Bucky replies dutifully, the words coming a little easier now. "You're Steve Grant Rogers."

"Good," Steve says. "That's real good Buck."

"No it ain't," Bucky replies coldly. Steve's face wrinkles with confusion. "It ain't good, Steve. Goodie for me, I can remember my own goddamn name and where I am. I wake up screamin' in the middle of the night, _almost stab you_ , and you want to pat me on the back for remembering where I _am_? That ain't good, Steve, that's fuckin' pathetic."

"You," Steve says sharply, a far cry from the soothing tones from a moment ago, "are not pathetic Bucky, you hear me?" Bucky doesn't look at him, fixing his gaze to his hands instead. He doesn't want to see the look on Steve's face, doesn't want to see how much he believes the lie. "Hey!" Strong fingers grip his chin and Bucky's eyes fly wide as his head is tilted up, forcing him to look Steve in the face. "Look at me, Buck. You are the single strongest person I know. Everything they did to you, and you still managed to come out of it. You _saved my life_ on that helicarrier, even before you'd even remembered who you were. You fought them every step of the way and you _won_."

"Steve – "

"I know it don't seem like much, Buck, but this is huge. You're amazing and – "

"God Steve just shut up," Bucky snaps and then it's Steve's turn to freeze. "I ain't some hero because I can barely keep it together and I happened to not kill you by accident when I couldn't even remember my own name, let alone yours. I mean Jesus, Stevie, how do you think any of this is gonna end? Because I think about it a lot. I know for a fact that Agent 13 was stationed next door to make sure that I don't lose it and kill you, and that she's been ordered to end me if I try. And as much as _vdova_ may like me and empathize, she'll put a bullet in my head faster than even I can stop it if it looks like I'm gonna lose it again."

"You're not gonna lose it," Steve insists.

"How do you _know_?" Bucky demands, ripping his hand out of Steve's grip and standing. How could be possibly know that? He doesn't even trust himself, how the hell could Steve possibly trust him?

"Because I'm not going to let anything happen to you, you fuckin' idiot," Steve argues, surging to his feet. Bucky takes a step away from him, mind whirling. Why would Steve put himself in the line of fire for him? Why would he sacrifice his safety and the safety of the people he cares about? Bucky is a monster, plain and simple. Sure, HYDRA took away his agency, took away his mind, but it was still him pulling the trigger. It was all him.

"Why the fuck not?" Bucky shouts. He clenches his fists by his sides to try and keep his anger contained. They've never done this, him and Steve, never fought like this, not since Bucky came home to Brooklyn. "You should, you know. Just let S.H.I.E.L.D have me so I'm not a danger to anybody else, least of all you." Steve looks stricken and Bucky pounces, not giving an inch. "Do you want that to be how you go, Steve? The great Captain America, killed in his sleep by the psychotic ex-assassin he's allowing to live in his apartment because he's too _stupid_ to move on!"

"That's not why – "

"Then why?' Bucky demands. "Why keep me? Why trust me? Why fuckin' bother with me at all because all signs point to me killin' you and I don't think I could take that Steve, I really don't, not after everything else. So why? Why – "

"Because I love you! I love you, you _fucking_ jerk," Steve bursts out and Bucky feels like he's swallowed his tongue. He's got enough sense to feel his stomach twist at the tears glistening in Steve's eyes. The air leaves his lungs all at once like he's been socked in the gut and all he can do is try not to fall over. "Jesus Christ, Buck, I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you since the day we met and every fucking day after."

"You…you love me?" Bucky can't do much more than stammer the words.

"Of course I love you," Steve says, all the anger gone in a rush. "God, I – " He doesn't get any further than that, because Bucky closes the gap between them, cradling Steve's face in his mismatched hands. Without a moment of hesitation, he presses his lips against Steve's, whisper soft and hesitant, waiting for Steve to push him away, but Steve only kisses him back harder.

With an audible sigh, Bucky melts against him, until it feels like the only thing keeping him standing are Steve's hands on his waist. For once, he doesn't cringe away from touch, sinking into it gladly.

"Bucky," Steve breathes, pulling away for a moment that feels like a lifetime. "Are you okay? Is this – "

"Shut up and kiss me," Bucky growls, pulling Steve back and placing a proprietary hand on the back of his neck. "Fuckin' punk," Bucky murmurs between kisses. It's not a word he can remember using but something about it feels right.

"Jerk," Steve says again, but this time he's smiling.

Somehow they end up back on the bed and Steve lets Bucky push him into the mattress as they kiss and kiss and kiss. Until Bucky's breath is coming in short, uneven gasps and finally Steve breaks away, looking at him searchingly.

"You alright?" Steve says, his eyes wide and very, very blue.

"I'm…" Bucky says, his voice ragged. He rolls onto the bed and nuzzles into Steve's shoulder, seeking out the solid warmth of him. "I'm really tired." It's been a long day. Long night. There's a beat of silence before Steve bursts into slightly hysterical laughter.

"Okay, I'll let you get some rest." He moves as if to get off of the bed but Bucky grabs his wrist before he can leave.

"Stay?" Bucky says softly, already half asleep. He manages to crack his eyes wide open enough to see Steve's blue eyes gazing down at him as he swipes his tongue over red, swollen lips. "You don' hafta…I mean…"

"I'll stay," Steve says and it sounds like a promise. He slides under the covers and wraps both arms around Bucky's stomach. It feels safe, for the first time. Bucky exhales slowly, relaxing wholly against Steve's embrace.

"Love you too Stevie," he mumbles, and the last thing he hears before he falls asleep is Steve sigh.

The next morning, long before Steve wakes up for his morning run Bucky slips out of the apartment and brings a certain syringe to a shaking German scientist who's location he spied in a S.H.I.E.L.D file months ago and has been saving till now. Then he goes to the one remaining HYDRA base in the city and slashes a familiar star into the wall – the same one that adorns his arm. A old, familiar calm settles over his minds, the fog of being on a mission. It allows him to move about in public without panicking like he did yesterday. Rumlow will see it and know what it means, because Bucky's made a decision: He's going to live. It doesn't matter who Rumlow wants him to kill, he'll do it for any chance to live.

Because Steve loves him, and he loves Steve, and he'll be damned if he gives up on the chance of a life together so easily.

* * *

 

Things get better. The serum is everything Rumlow promised and more, and Bucky makes a point to kill the scientist that analyzed it, HYDRA bastard. The first in many dents he'll make in the remaining agents of the organization. Rumlow's first assignment comes within the next few days, sent to a burner phone he left for Bucky at the abandoned base a few days after they first made contact. And part of him revels in reassertion of old instincts, the ability to use the skills that HYDRA forced on him to do good instead of evil. He's ridding the world of the men and women who tried to end it – and they are the men and women who tried to end it. Bucky isn't a fool; he isn't allowing himself to be pointed at innocent civilians like a mindless weapon. He does his research, and the people he's sent after might even have more blood on their hands than he does. There's retribution in what he's doing, there's _justice_.

At home, things with Steve are better than he could have ever hoped. They take things slow, but being with him, knowing that his feelings – the ones he was afraid to even acknowledge because he knew they could rip him apart – are valid and reciprocated…It helps. It helps more than Bucky ever thought it would.

They don't do much more than kiss, and occasionally hold hands in public at first, but just knowing that Steve loves him makes all the difference in the world. Knowing that Steve is there, holding him close, helps to chase the nightmares away and Bucky actually gets decent nights of sleep for the first time since he came home.

"Good morning," Steve says one Sunday before the sun rises, kissing Bucky's cheek. Bucky stretches, working out all the kinks that have formed in the night.

"Mornin'," he replies sleepily, turning to return the kiss. Steve's lips are soft and warm and they share lazy kisses, both humming their contentment. "How about," Bucky says, nuzzling his nose against Steve's, "I go make us breakfast and we stay in bed all day?" Steve's grins like Bucky hung the goddamn moon and they stay together until well into the evening, remapping each-other's bodies, learning how they're different and how they're the same. Bucky runs his fingers over lines of taut muscles that were never there before, and Steve gently traces every scar and healed wound, running his tongue over the raised skin. He marks Bucky like they did, trying to make his marks last so that Bucky knows how much he belongs to Steve, trying to wipe out the physical evidence of HYDRA's hold on him.

Even as gentle stroking and petting devolves into more fevered movements, heated and urgent, they still take it slowly and Steve checks in every so often to make sure Bucky is okay. He's more than okay. The feeling of Steve's mouth on his, lips tasting his own, his skin, his cock, it's everything he's needed for the last year. It's everything he never knew he wanted. And when Steve spreads him open and he's laid bare, stretched wide and vulnerable, there's safety in it. He knows Steve will take care of him, Steve always takes care of him. And when he comes, hot and messy with Steve stroking him through it the whole time, Bucky's nearly brought to tears. He can have this for the rest of his life. This can be his future with Steve. Sleepy mornings, homemade breakfast, mind-blowing sex, and knowing that wherever he goes, Steve's arms are waiting to welcome him home.

And he can have all of it. The serum _works_ , if at a cost, but Bucky will do anything, and killing HYDRA agents isn't anything that Steve, Nat, and the rest of them aren't doing anyway. It's the least Bucky can do, though technically he's still sidelined. Bucky feels healthy, whole, and his heart hasn't been hurting him like it did before he collapsed the first time. It's working. All of it. All the pieces are starting to come together. He's building a life, finally, after years of torture and pain, he is finally where he belongs.

But despite everything, despite his absolute bliss, somewhere in the corner of his mind, Bucky knows that the other shoe has to drop. He dreads lying to Steve, waiting for him to leave the house on missions so he can go on missions of his own. It's not just the guilt that coils in his stomach like an ulcer, threatening to burst at any moment; it's infinitely worse than that. Someone like him doesn't get two months of happiness for nothing. Something is coming, and soon. Bucky, in his infinite over-imagination and paranoia, expects some kind of attack.

He doesn't expect a physical.

"Damn, Sparky, your heart is looking downright healthy," Stark exclaims, reading the displays on the many monitors hooked up to Bucky's chest. "I mean, there's marked difference from the last time I took a look at the old ticker." Stark peers closer at the readouts and Bucky clenches his fists, trying to remain calm. Every instinct is telling him to get out. Get out and _run_ , before Stark figures it out, before he tells anyone, before they find out what he's been doing because then they'll take him away for sure. "This is good, Barnes," Stark says, clapping Bucky on the back. He jerks a little, forcing himself to stop before he spins into attack mode. Stark doesn't look suspicious, he looks… _happy_ , and Bucky is reminded yet again that Stark is Steve's friend. He doesn't want Bucky to die either. For all he knows, taking out the tech adhered to his ribcage is what saved him.

Bucky needs to keep it that way.

"I guess I'm just in shock," Bucky grinds out, trying to sound a little excited, or even just surprised. "I didn't – " He swallows hard. "I didn't think I had time."

"It looks like you've got more than we thought," Stark says, the brash façade dropping to show a glimmer of genuine happiness before the raunchy smile returns. "Although it seems like you and Capsicle have been making good use of what time you _did_ have." Stark waggles his eyebrows, laughing as Bucky rolls his eyes. "Come on man, this is _great_! Plus, you and Cap are the worst kept secret in S.H.I.E.L.D, and that's saying something." Bucky offers up a more convincing smile, allowing the teasing. It's better than outright suspicion.

"Stark tells me that you're doing better," Natasha says, waiting for him outside of the office. Bucky stills at something in her voice. "And your bracelet hasn't been going off as often."

"I guess you guys were wrong," Bucky says, trying for nonchalance. "Taking that shit outta my chest stopped it. It's not a sure thing, but it looks like I'm cured." Natasha's lips purse for just a fraction of a second, but it's enough to make the hairs on Bucky's next stand up. Natasha's been over a lot, just checking up and hanging out with him and Steve, usually with Clint or Sam. Not for the first time he's reminded that she's not just Natasha Romanoff, she's _vdova_. She's a Black Widow agent, a spider, and no one to be trifled with. HYDRA wanted her dead, but not enough that they were willing to send him after her, because they were afraid of losing their asset. Him. Of all the spies, assassins, and agents operating in the world, she was the only one they thought had a flying chance in hell of actually killing him. Not even Steve, Captain America himself, could claim that.

"I'm glad," she says finally, but Bucky doesn't relax. She's too good a liar. "You and Steve deserve this. If anyone in this world deserves more time, it's you two."

"Thanks," Bucky says, still on edge. She must see it, but Natasha doesn't say anything. "I don't think I'm going to be betting the apartment anytime soon but…God, I want to live, Nat." The words ring true – how could they not, with everything he's doing to stay alive? – and Natasha's gaze softens a touch.

"Between you and me, I think you two are going to end up being the most disgustingly domestic couple in the city," she says kindly and Bucky feels guilt swell in his gut. He thought lying to Steve was bad, but this is almost worse. Natasha might like him, but not like Steve does. Bucky lying to Steve, it's selfish, but it's to protect him. Lying to Natasha is to protect himself. He always knew he was a self-serving bastard but he doesn't need the constant reminder. He doesn't need Natasha's well wishes turning sour as they echo over and over again in his mind. Bucky forces himself to shake them off as he walks out of the S.H.I.E.L.D building and into the midday sunlight. If doing Rumlow's dirty work is the cost of a life with Steve, he'll pay it. Bucky just never anticipated it being _this hard_.

* * *

 

"You gonna tell Fury?" Sam asks that night over pizza and beer. Steve and Bucky aren't drinking – Steve learned his lesson the last time and Bucky doesn't trust his own lips if they're loosened.

"What about the fact that not one but two American icons are dating one another?" Steve asks jokingly. "He'd have a heart attack and bust a blood vessel in his good eye."

"He already knows," Natasha's voice comes from the front door and Bucky damn near jumps out of his skin. Shit, she really is everywhere today.

"Jesus _fuck_ , Tash," Sam complains, hastily dabbing the spilt beer off of his pants. "I swear to God I'm going to put a bell on you."

"I'd have to mess up your pretty face, Wilson, and who'd like you then?" Natasha shoots back, stealing the pizza off of his plate while Sam splutters, trying to come up with an answer. Clint shuffles in behind her, shaking his head at the chaos that always seems to ensue when Natasha makes an unannounced entrance.

"Right because you'd be the best agent in S.H.I.E.L.D if you weren't also gorgeous," Sam replies finally. Natasha smirks at him.

"Good thing I know how to keep someone from messing it up then, isn't it?" Natasha snipes immediately. "See, we spies are very good at the art of self preservation."

"Here we go," Bucky mutters, and he's steadfastly ignored as all parties launch into the age-old "soldiers versus spies" argument, with Sam and Steve facing off against Clint and Natasha. They've had the same fight a thousand times, and Bucky just sits back and listens and they go back and forth over and over again.

"Barnes, you've been on both sides of the line," Clint says finally. "Settle this, will you? Soldier or spy?" The whole room freezes and Bucky shoots Clint a half panicked look. Steve's hand wraps around his but Bucky jerks away, shaking his head. He was never a spy. Not once, not ever. Spies, they deal in lies and deceit. He was a soldier, and then he was a blunt weapon. Maybe, generously, he could be called an assassin, but never a spy.

Or is that what he is now? After all, he's been living a lie since that first visit with Rumlow. All he does is lie and deceive everyone around him, because he wants to live. Because he wants a shot at happiness. Sure, he can say that it's for Steve, and maybe it started out that way – maybe a small part of it is still for him – but Bucky meant what he said before: He wants to live. Bucky has no rationale, just selfish excuses.

"I – " Bucky stutters. "I have to go." Tearing himself off of the couch, he disappears into his room and locks the door behind him. No doubt Steve will try to comfort him, but Bucky doesn't think he can stand to look him in the face, not right now. Not when all Steve does is look at Bucky with so much love and devotion and all Bucky does is _lie_.

Eventually, there is a knock on the door, and familiar voices behind it, but Bucky just hides his head under the covers and stays silent until they go away. He's ruined the party, fucked up the good mood, but he can't look at any of them right now. He doesn't deserve to be a part of their laughter, doesn't deserve to share it. Not like this.

The next morning he slips out of the apartment before the sun goes up.

"You look like shit, Asset," Rumlow says, waiting for him at the abandoned base. Bucky bites back a snarl, not expecting to see him. He palms the knife hidden in his coat. One of five. Rumlow hasn't shown his face since their first meeting, just leaving names and addresses for Bucky to find, and then serum when they're found dead within the next twenty-four hours. "Don't tell me you're losing sleep over our little arrangement."

"I'm done," Bucky growls, not bothering to rise to Rumlow's bait. "Do your own killing."

Rumlow's face splits into a wide smile, making the scar marring his face look even more hideous. "You know what? This timing is just uncanny. Because I don't need you any more." He pulls a syringe out of his coat pocket, waving it at Bucky. "This is the last dose you need to keep your heart beating. One last assignment, Asset. Then you're free." Free. It sounds too good to be true, which definitely means that it is. "All you gotta do is kill the Widow." Bucky goes still, instinctively steeling his features as his mind whirls out of control. _Vdova_. Rumlow wants him to kill _vdova?_ Natasha? His handler, his friend?

"Not a chance in hell," Bucky snaps, despite old fear coiling in the back of his mind, promising punishment for disobeying.

"Pity," Rumlow says, shrugging. "Because honestly, she's the only thing standing in the way of you having the next seventy years, maybe even longer. Who knows what the shit in your system will do to your aging process."

"Bucky?" Bucky whips around at Steve's voice, his heart clenching at the shocked, betrayed look on his face.

"Well, that's my exit," Rumlow says, laughing and snapping Steve a salute. "Nice t'see you, Captain." There's a familiar _snick_ of a pin being pulled out of a grenade and then two things happen at once: One, Steve shouts Bucky's name, and two, the air parts as the shield slices through it. Acting on little more than muscle memory, Bucky grabs the vibranium Frisbee out of the air and crouches behind it as the grenade erupts not two feet in front of him. Despite the shield, he still goes flying, somehow managing to use it to cushion his fall before crashing into the ground.

"Steve?" Bucky calls out as soon as the debris settles and he can pull himself to his feet. " _Steve_?"

"I'm okay," Steve says, appearing out of the rubble. Thank God he was able to get away from the blast. There's a flash of relief in his eyes before the hurt returns, and Steve's mouth sets into a hard line.

"Jesus Christ, Steve, why are you even here?" Bucky coughs, trying to deflect some of the anger he knows is coming.

"Natasha…" Steve says slowly, like he still can't believe it. "She said…she said something was going on with you, to keep an eye on you…Bucky please tell me I'm wrong. Tell me you're not working with him." Bucky doesn't answer right away and the sadness in Steve's eyes only deepens. "Does he have something on you? Are you in danger?" The fact that Steve just witnessed Bucky betray him so completely and his first concern is still with Bucky's health makes the dark pit in his stomach only grow. God, but Bucky doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve Steve, he never has.

"No," Bucky grinds out. "Not in danger, not from him." For all of Rumlow's knowing smirks and bravado, Bucky is the superior fighter in every sense of the word. He's never been in danger, at least not in any new danger.

"Then what?" Steve demands. "What could he possibly have on you to make you even _consider_ working with him? He's HYDRA, Bucky, he's part of the organization that – "

"Made me a monster?" Bucky finishes, all of the anger and anxiety from the past weeks bubbling to the surface and putting venom in his words. "Experimented on me, tortured me, turned me into a mindless killing machine with enough blood on my hands to drown the whole city? I'm very aware of what HYDRA's capable of Steve, I don't need a lecture from _you_." Steve staggers back as if he's been struck and Bucky uses the opening to surge past him. A hand grabs his flesh wrist and Bucky rears back, striking with his metal fist. Steve falls in earnest now, not expecting the blow or the strength behind it. Bucky hasn't lashed out at Steve since he came home, not when he's been in his right mind. But who knows what's his right mind anymore? Bucky's been working with HYDRA, for Christ's sake. Maybe he really is losing it. "Touch me again, and I'll break your arm," Bucky promises, his voice steely and sounding far away to his own ears. Steve doesn't make any attempt to touch him again, only stands and looks at him searchingly.

"Why, Buck?" he asks, his voice impossibly small.

Bucky doesn't respond until he's well out of earshot. "Because I want to live."

Natasha is waiting for him. Of course she's waiting for him. There aren't many places he had to look, but then again, Natasha must know that this is coming. There's a reason she's the best agent S.H.I.E.L.D has ever seen. He finds her in an old bell tower by the waterfront that's been abandoned for years – somewhere, she said when she brought him here the first time, she goes to center herself. Someplace she can feel safe and whole, surrounded by the city, a part of it. Natasha said it gave her perspective on the pain she caused, because the people below her, the ones that had no idea she exists, they could go about their lives because of the work she does.

"Gotta say, I'm flattered. My death for your life," she says, perched on a windowless sill, looking out at the city like he isn't there to kill her. And he has to. God, he doesn't want to, but he has to. He just got his life back and he wants to keep it. And even if Steve hates him for it – and he will hate him for it – Bucky will still be alive to keep an eye on his dumb ass. After all, Steve does have a bad habit of keeping his left side open. "They'll hunt you down for this, you know that?"  
"I do," Bucky says, wishing for the mind-numbing calm that usually accompanies a kill mission. But he's too close to this, too exposed. He'll be present for all of it, no hiding in his own head until it's over. No being able to pretend that it isn't really him pulling the trigger. Ironic, how often he's shoved the Soldier into the deepest recesses of his mind, but now he wishes for him to take over. "How did you know?" He has to ask. At this, Natasha finally looks at him, flashing a smile that's more teeth than anything else.

"Because I know what it looks like when someone's got a secret they're trying to keep for someone else's benefit," Natasha says simply. "I've danced that dance most of my life. You should've been happy when Stark told you the news, but you looked like someone was about to haul you off in cuffs. So I told Steve to keep a close eye on you."

"You should've stayed out of it," Bucky barks at her, wanting this to be over with. His hand strays to the gun in his jacket. Natasha's eyes track his movement but she makes no move to stop him. She doesn't even look fazed.

"You're my friend, James," Natasha says simply. "And so is Steve. " She shifts slightly and Bucky can see that she's got no weapons on hand, but that doesn't mean that there aren't any that he can't see. "So do what you think you have to. Shoot me. God knows I deserve it for what I've done. But make it count, because if you don't kill me, I'll take you apart." Bucky raises his arm, aiming the gun at her heart, and Natasha just looks at him, unflinching. She doesn't break eye contact, and her breathing remains regular.

"I'm sorry Natasha. I don't want to do this," Bucky says, steeling himself.

"I know you don't," she replies with another sad smile. "Tell Clint I never really hated his dog." Bucky can't promise that – no doubt he'll be on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D for a good long time after what he's about to do.

_Breathe,_ he tells himself. _Inhale, exhale._ His finger twitches on the trigger just as the door to the bell tower flies open with a _bang_. Bucky's shot misses by centimeters, burying in the wood frame inches from Natasha's head. _I can't do it_ , he thinks helplessly. He can't. Not to her, not to Natasha. Not knowing what it'll do to Clint. And Steve, and Sam, and everyone else she's family too. She's family to him too. Natasha taught him that he's capable of redemption, was straight with him when no one else was…How could he kill her? The world needs her, like it needs Steve and the rest of their team, and a whole lot more than it needs Bucky.

Footsteps sound from behind him and Bucky swings without thinking, impulse taking over as his rational mind spins out with despair. How could be so stupid. How could he ever have entertained this? A gun is pointed at his face and Steve rips it out of the hands of the nameless S.H.I.E.L.D agent, tossing it away and landing a hand punch in the man's gut before the barrel of a rifle is pressed against the back of his neck.

That's when everything goes sideways. Bucky sees red, every nerve electrifying at once, every instinct screaming at him to _fight, kill_. His mouth bared in a feral snarl, Bucky turns on the agents, forsaking his gun completely and slashing at them with the knives he's got stashed on his person. He wants to see them bleed; he wants them to hurt like he's hurting. And he is hurting, he's in fucking agony. Guilt, rage, despair, they all churn through him without an outlet to be released.

Preoccupied with the agents, the Soldier doesn't notice a spider crawling closer until he feels her sting. His eyes fly wide and he drops like a stone as several thousand volts of electricity surge through his body. Boots crowd around his head but no bullets pierce his skin. There's only pressure as a hand presses against his chest and green eyes swim into focus.

"You're a good man, James," the spider says. Bucky wants to laugh. How can she say that to him? He tried to kill her. "We're going to get you help." Something pricks the side of his neck and Bucky panics for a moment as his blood turns to slow-moving goo but then it's too late, he's already falling fast asleep. Somehow, he's able to stave off the effects for just long enough to get out two words:

"I'm sorry." His eyes close and he can almost imagine soft lips pressing against his cheek.

"You're forgiven."

* * *

 

There's beeping all around him, shattering the peaceful, blind silence that's settled over his mind. His body feels too-big and heavy, as if he's floating and sinking at the same time. He's got no idea how long he's been stuck in limbo, but sometimes a face plashes in the forefront of his mind. A red-haired woman or a blond man with eyes the color of the sky. The woman's face hurt him, but the _man's_ …seeing him is torture, so Bucky tries to push them away whenever they appear.

Sometimes he's roused, forced to blink against glaring lights and he'll growl his displeasure, fighting to go back under. Words float around him meaninglessly, words like "sepsis," "heart failure," and "brain death." Some part of him knows that those words should scare him, but there's only blank numbness. He's done something, he doesn't know what, but he _does_ know that having to face it would be worse than staying in the darkness forever. Nothing hurts here. Waking will hurt and God knows he's been dealt enough pain in his life.

"Bucky?" His own name floats to him from very far away. "Bucky, please wake up. Please. You can't go yet, I can't – " The voice cuts off, and there's a long, aching pause. "I don't want to live without you. I…I just got you back." Bucky groans, all desire to remain in the darkness vanishing at the anguish in Steve's voice. Steve's hurting. Steve's hurting because of _him_.

Slowly, Bucky is able to force his eyes open, everything coming back to him in a rush. The deal with Rumlow, lying to Steve, trying to kill _vdova_ , and being unable to follow through. Light filters past his eyes and finally he's able to focus on the man at his bedside. And he is in bed, hooked up to half a dozen machines and shackled to the wall by the restraints S.H.I.E.L.D designed to hold him. Not that it makes a different now; Bucky doesn't feel strong enough to break a child's grip, let alone reinforced steel handcuffs.

"Hey Steve," Bucky wheezes. Every inch of his pulses with dull pain, beating in time with his heart. "Ow. Shit. _Vdova's_ bracelets pack one hell of a punch." Steve's face glows with relief for a single, blessed second before the sadness returns.

"You're awake," Steve breathes, his hand reaching up as if to stroke Bucky's hair before he snatches it back again. He opens his mouth twice before closing it again, at a loss for words.

"I'm dyin,'" Bucky supplies for him. "Have been since Project Insight got shot to shit. HYDRA put a failsafe to kill me in case anything went wrong and it did."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Steve asks softly, his voice quivering. "I coulda – S.H.I.E.L.D coulda – "

"Didn't want you to hurt," Bucky says. The words are hard to come by and he feels exhaustion settle over him, seeping deep into his bones. He wants to go back to sleep, but there's no guarantee that he'll wake up and he needs to explain. "I thought…I thought we could have a coupla good months together before I kicked the bucket. And then Rumlow – " His words dissolve into a fit of coughing and when he takes his unfettered hand away from his mouth, it's smeared with blood. Shit. "Rumlow gave me a cure. Said I just hadta kill HYDRA traitors." Bucky laughs bitterly. "Guess I got what's been comin' to me."  
"Don't say that," Steve admonishes, but there's not heat behind it. "Natasha told me what happened. You missed on purpose, Bucky. You weren't gonna go through with it.  
Bucky balks at how ready Steve is to forgive him. He deserves anger, rage. He deserves all of it after what he almost did.

"But I wanted to," Bucky protests tiredly. "Steve, I wanted to kill her because I wanted to live. I – I don't wanna die." The words are soft, regretful, and Bucky feels tears crowding the corners of his eyes as he says it. "Don't know why you bother with me," Bucky says. "M' a selfish bastard, always have been." He reaches out to Steve with his free hand, pulling him close. "I didn't want to lose you, but I did, didn't I?" He's tired. God, he's so tired.

"You didn't lose me," Steve promises squeezing Bucky's hand hard. "You did what you thought you had to. I – " He's interrupted by a knock and Bucky flinches as Natasha appears in the doorway.

"Hey Cap," she murmurs. "The doc says he's got to get some rest now." Steve nods, standing. Bucky wants to protest but the last of his energy abandons him all at once. Steve pauses on his way out, whispering something into Natasha's ear before leaving. "How are you feeling?" she asks, standing well away from Bucky's bed.

"Are you here to kill me?" Bucky rasps. For maybe the first time, he sees a flash of genuine emotion cross her face. She looks horrified at the suggestion and the expression lingers even as she struggles with words.

"No, of course not."

"You should," Bucky says. "I tried to kill you."

"No you don't," Natasha contradicts, quicker this time. "No one with aim like yours misses a target from point blank range. You made a choice."

"Were you going to let me?" Bucky has to know, even if the answer hurts, even if she set him up.

"You never get over it," she says, sitting in the seat that Steve's vacated. "The guilt, the torture. Everything they did to you, you never get over it." Suddenly, it's hard to breathe as Natasha articulates his worst fear: He's never going to get better, not that he's got much time left anymore. "The first year after Clint brought me to S.H.I.E.L.D, I went off the reservation. Took out half the Red Room on my own. I thought it would help, I thought it would make me feel better. But it didn't, because I ended up exactly how I started, bloody and alone."

"But you got revenge," Bucky croaks. "You got justice."

"And alienated Clint and everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D in the process." She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "You're never going to get over it. Never. But you get through it. Some days are harder than others, but you keep pushing through. Because after everything we've done, we owe the world putting our talents to use on the side of the angels."

"You didn't answer my question," Bucky says when it looks like she's about to make a hasty retreat. He's never seen _vdova_ so vulnerable.

"I've been ready to die for years, James. Selfish, I know. Clint'll never forgive me if I go before him." She doesn't say anything else, just sends in the doctor and Bucky lies back as he man explains in detail the extent to which his body is giving up on him. Apparently, without Rumlow's last dose, the deterioration of his heart has been accelerated exponentially. He's got days, not months.

"Rest now, Mr. Barnes," the doctor suggests and as Bucky's blood turns to syrup, it occurs to him that he doesn't have much of a choice.

His snatches of consciousness are filled with activity. Steve and Natasha both visit, but never alone. Sam and Clint haven't been briefed on what happened in the bell tower – if they had been, Bucky suspects they'd be a lot less concerned about his expiration date. And it's coming. Every morning, Bucky feels less and less of himself wake up. None of the drugs they're constantly pumping into his system are doing any sort of good. They keep saying that there are more tests they can run, more options to try, but everyone knows that he's dying and there's nothing they can do about it.

They say their goodbyes. No one admits it, but the elephant is in the room and it's trumpeting Bucky's death march. Clint brings Lucky and nearly gives the doctors an aneurism apiece as the filthy yellow lab jumps onto Bucky's hospital bed and cuddles beside him. Sam salutes him and says that he'd be one hell of a wingman, and when they leave, Natasha is left. Steve hasn't been around since yesterday and a part of Bucky is glad. He doesn't want Steve seeing him like this. The other, the louder part, desperately wants Steve there beside him.

"You scared?" Natasha asks. "It's okay to be."

"Yeah," Bucky replies finally. "Yeah I am." Not because he believes in some kind of afterlife, not because he's scared of burning in hell. He was raised Catholic, but Bucky stopped believing in God a long time ago. He's terrified of leaving Steve behind. His whole life has revolved around keeping that stupid punk safe; Bucky doesn't want to go where Steve can't follow.

He doesn't want to go at all.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says. He wishes there were better words to explain how much he regrets what he did. He wishes that he had more time to find them. He'd spend the rest of his life making it up to her if he could. Natasha smiles sadly, pushing long strands of hair out of his eyes.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," she promises. Slowly, Natasha leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "It's been an honor knowing you. Goodbye James."

"Goodbye _vdova_ ," Bucky replies, reaching out to squeeze her hand. She walks out without a single glance back and once again, Bucky feels tears slipping down his cheeks. He's alone for a while after that. Nurses and doctors come and go, but Bucky ignores them.

He's never believed in the cold shadow of death, the reaper bringing souls to their eternal resting place, but he's cold now. Colder than he's ever been in his life, and he's spent much of it frozen. It feels like someone's breathing down the back of his neck, but that's almost certainly his imagination getting the best of him.

He wants Steve. Where is he? Bucky doesn't want to die without saying goodbye, but he's tired. Somehow, he knows that this is the end. He's come to terms with it – there isn't anything left for him to do now but wait to fall asleep. But as long as his heart is still beating, he'll stave off sleep until he can see Steve again.

"Hey you," Bucky says, his eyes half-lidded and his voice heavy with sleep when Steve finally comes through the door. He feels like he's been waiting for days and his heart pounds a little quicker, seeing Steve's face floating in front of his own. "You made it."

"I got him, Buck," Steve says, his eyes bright and triumphant. "I got him."

"Rumlow."

"Yeah," Steve says, grabbing Bucky's hand. "I got him. He's not going to hurt anyone ever again. I got him for you."

"Thank you," Bucky says, trying to be happy for him. He could care less about Rumlow, all he wants is Steve to be here with him. "D'you remember?" he asks after a long silence. "What you said to me on the helicarrier?" Some of the light fades from Steve's face and he nods, tears suddenly glistening in the corners of his eyes. Somewhere in his mind, he thought that getting Rumlow would make a difference, make it better. Maybe he was looking for the antidote, but it doesn't matter. Not now.

"I'm with you till the end of the line," he recites, his voice only shaking a little.

"I think this is the end of my line," Bucky says, swallowing hard. "Will you…will you stay with me?"

"Push over," Steve says by way of answer, and Bucky manages to wriggle to one side of the bed. There's not enough room for the both of them but neither could care, not right now. All they want it to be close to one another. "I'm not goin' anywhere," Steve promises, looking Bucky full in the face and pressing soft kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. Bucky sighs, sinking into the strong embrace.

"I love you Stevie," Bucky murmurs, tucking his head into Steve's chest and closing his eyes. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you too," Steve says, and it sounds like he's crying in earnest now. Fingers wind their way through Bucky's hair and it feels good. A hand strokes lazy circles on his back, round and round and round again. "Till the end of the line, Buck." There's a pause, then one final sigh, and Bucky feels himself fade slowly from existence, then all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

When Bucky opens his eyes, Steve is there, looking at him like he hung the goddamn moon.

"Look who's up," he says, tears sliding down his face and dropping onto the blankets covering Bucky's whole body.

"How?" Bucky croaks. He should be dead…

"Because Stark's a fucking genius," Natasha says, appearing in Bucky's line of sight. She smiles at him. "And if any of you tell him I said that, I'll break your arms."

"I'm…I'm alive."

"Yes you are," Steve says, cupping Bucky's face with his hand and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You're stuck with us in the land of the living, Buck. The end of the line ain't for one hell of a long time yet."

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, drop me a comment or come hang out on [ tumblr!](http://widowbitesandhearingaids.tumblr.com/)


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